Canterbury

Unless I first believe I shall not understand
why pushing off in first boats of dread
why we end here, to come again,
for a meal is all,
when a meal is enough
through an eternal feast
to find fault with the premises of a soundness?

The villages birthe more than they can
and off on that edge
of northward westward ho
pride is in the humble font overflowing
and never will I malign the malignant motherland
with fault-finding in her conceiving me in the clay

For the weakness of the rumor I hear
echoed in the surplus in transit
is in its predications, and
that ontological failure would be my own;
Unless I first believe I shall not understand
why pushing off in first boats of dread
and then islands of sanctimony

Why we come to end here again
for a meal when
a meal’s all and enough
for a moveable sanctuary.

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